


for another day

by pluviales



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, M/M, i'm sorry that i can't write fluff, starts out fluffy then gets a little sad by the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:50:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluviales/pseuds/pluviales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/><strong><em>courfeyrac x marius; canon era</em> - marius has caught a fever, and courfeyrac is returning with money in his pocket</strong>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>courfeyrac taking care of marius, for avery</p>
  <p>    <em>"You’re a blessing!"</em><br/><em>This had Courfeyrac’s smile wane imperceptibly, and his eyes lowered slightly as he shrugged.</em><br/><em>"I’m struck with my moments, yes."</em><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	for another day

The gas lamps were already being lit as Courfeyrac donned his hat, a wide grin splitting his face in two, gave a neat bow to the opium-clouded room from which he was departing, and straightened his back with a wink; loudly proclaiming, “Goodnight, gentlemen! Farewell, friends – charming to have played with you!”   
                His lips were still parted and fully prepared to let another overly cheery, and inferably condescending, merriment fall from his tongue, when the tobacco pipe was flung at his head. Dodging it swiftly, albeit barely, Courfeyrac’s beam did not falter as he finished much more rapidly: “Until next time!” – And with that, he spun away on the spot and near-dashed onto the cobbled stones of the Chaussée du Maine. There he lingered for a moment, adjusting his black hat and releasing a sharp exhale of relief. Giving a deft nod to himself to deem the brief respite over, he resumed his journey joyous once more, exulting in being able to hear the rattle of coins in his trouser-pocket. For, that evening, Courfeyrac had been in attendance of one of the regular sessions of gambled dominoes at the Barrière du Maine – he was frequently a part of the tournaments, and he equally as frequently lost during them. Tonight, however, had  been different, and the spring in his gait was undeniable as he all but skipped his way back to his lodgings: there, he knew, awaited Marius. They had been without fresh loaves for five days, and it pained Courfeyrac to see Marius continue gaily and in nonchalance, the kind-hearted boy always slicing a greater portion of the staled bread they had remaining for his roommate than he sliced for himself, and never drawing attention to the practice – this was in vain, however, for Courfeyrac had noticed; indeed, the young man had a way of noticing most everything.  
                Musing on their lack of sustenance drew Courfeyrac’s brows together and etched small frown lines across his temple, and so he resolved to make a short detour past the _petite-boulangerie_ only two boulevards across from their rented rooms, where – if he was not too late, for the sky was already becoming inky and the markets were closing up for the evening – he would hopefully be able to use his winnings to purchase some regular loaves as well as some sweet pastries. If he was in added luck, too, there might even be available a cherry-topped sweet bun; this treat, he knew, was Marius’ favourite. Hopefully it would help to lift the boy’s spirits – lately, for reasons Courfeyrac had guessed at correctly, yet was not certain, the dreamy young soul had faltered slightly in his path, spurring sorrowful moods in Marius and dimming the usual merriness of his disposition. This in turn darkened Courfeyrac’s mood, too, leaving him despairing. Perhaps the sweetbread of Madame du Chibrac could cure this malady for them both, Courfeyrac supposed, as he turned into the bakery – he had discovered it still open for trading, much to his delight.

                Having made his purchases successfully and retaining an admirable amount of change, Courfeyrac exited the small shop and turned back along the street with a quickened pace, almost brimming over with excitement to return home and reach Marius, and boast of his success in the dominoes and share the good fortune with his close friend. But upon reaching their lodgings and prising open the door, and hollering out for Marius to come over, to see his surprise, he was met with only silence.  
                “Marius?” he called out again, concern edging his tone, though the smile had not yet fully faded from his cheeks.  
                A quiet sniff was the only answer garnered this time, sounding softly from the small living quarters. Untying his cravat and propping his hat upon a nearby stand, Courfeyrac’s pace was more urgent than not as he crossed into the living-room; there, bundled up in coverlets and woollen blankets like a newborn child, yet still shivering, lay Marius. His forehead was emitting a pinkish glow, as were his inflamed cheeks – the latter was not abnormal, Marius’ blushing being one of his most endearing traits, yet the former sprung up concern within Courfeyrac: “ _Mon dieu_ , Marius,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “you could pass for a bowl of Madame la Miossec’s broth.” Madame la Miossec was their neighbour, and had once offered them her own home-boiled soup; unforgettably, the poorly-strained consommé and its peculiar floating lumps had left Courfeyrac’s stomach unsettled for days.  
                 Marius attempted to laugh, but it came out as more of a splutter. “I’m – ill,” he explained needlessly, prompting a chuckle from his roommate.  
                “Really? Oh – I was merely commenting on your countenance in general, but now that you mention it…” Courfeyrac smiled, before moving fluidly across the room and kneeling beside the daybed upon which Marius was stretched: slightly too much, at that, for the settee ended just before his ankles, leaving his feet to dangle off the end. His expression slightly sobered, and tone unusually caressing, Courfeyrac reached out to lay the backs of his fingers gently atop Marius’ sticky forehead. “Hmm,” he frowned, though at what exactly he was unsure – he was no doctor, but he had known Joly to make such a sound of dissent whenever he had performed checkups on the company. “Quite hot,” Courfeyrac added knowingly, for good measure. “Are you certain you need those blankets?”  
                Marius nodded, teeth chattering. “I’m still – shivering!” he half-exclaimed, clearly incredibly put out by the sickness. Courfeyrac bit at the inside of his cheek, teeth clamping down upon the warm tissue, and returned the nod.  
                “You are,” he confirmed, a note of sadness in his inflection; instead of bringing his hand away from Marius’ forehead, then, he turned it over and brought his fingers across his temple carefully, sweeping to one side the dark curls, and repeating the tender gesture again immediately, a delicate smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. The different parting of Marius’ hair made him look almost younger: more vulnerable, perhaps, yet more angelic.  
                Courfeyrac got to his feet, and turned away. “I shall make you some warmed bread,” he said resolutely.  
                 This caught Marius’ attention – the eyes of the fever-stricken young man, having become more heavily-lidded and softer beneath the unexpected touch of Courfeyrac’s fingertips, widened again at his words – his head jerked up, and he spluttered in surprise, “Warmed bread? What? But we are out of bread! I noticed this morning, we had but a crumb – unless it was the malady, oh, and I’ve been mistaken… I suppose confusion is an effect of fever…” He let his rushed-out discourse trail off with a sad sigh as Courfeyrac disappeared from sight, crossing into the entry parlour; moments later, however, he returned, carrying in his arms two white loaves which almost struck Marius down in shock. “What!” he exclaimed, and Courfeyrac beamed.  
                “You were right,” he explained quickly, “we were out of bread – but just tonight, as if by a miracle at that, I won during the dominoes. Well: I wouldn’t say ‘miracle’, really; in truth it was my own skill…” Here he paused to let out a chuckle, and Marius swiftly interjected – “You’re a blessing!”  
                This had Courfeyrac’s smile wane imperceptibly, and his eyes lowered slightly as he shrugged. “I’m struck with my moments, yes.”  Then, with suddenly renewed vigour, he skipped onto the balls of his feet briefly before moving across the room to squat beside the lit fireplace. Carefully, he set up the materials required to warm up the first loaf. Marius watched him work, fascinated; it was a wonder how, whenever he needed it, Courfeyrac managed to come to his aid. Certainly, at times Marius felt as though the young man worked against him – what with all of the teasing, and japing – yet it couldn’t be denied that the reliability of Courfeyrac was a solid fixture in his life, and for that Marius was exceedingly grateful.

He was still musing upon this when a terrible cough rose in his throat, and the young man began to splutter and bark violently. Twisting round from his position before the fire, Courfeyrac saw that Marius was choking and clambered to his feet, throwing aside the loaf and dashing towards the faucet in the corner of the room to fill up a chipped glass with water. He had turned the knob of the tap with such feverish urgency, however, that the water shot out overly powerfully, spraying his shirt and waistcoat. Courfeyrac cursed under his breath, but put the issue aside, rushing back to Marius immediately. He helped the choking boy to sit up slightly and handed him the glass, which was filled almost to the brim. Marius took it with trembling hands and sipped at it gingerly, the cough still rumbling out of him in such a way that tore the very muscles of his throat apart. Courfeyrac helped him drink, all the while keeping a hand on his shoulder and murmuring soothing words. In truth, he had no idea what to do, yet his solution appeared to have worked; soon, Marius’ lungs conquered the itchy cough, his breathing returning to normal.  
                “There,” Courfeyrac said lowly, allowing Marius to keep hold of the glass by himself as he moved his hand to again stroke his hair from his temple, “are you all right now?”  
                Marius nodded, slightly subdued, and tilted his head up to look at Courfeyrac. “Y-Yes,” he stammered, though his tone was reassuring, “quite all right, I think...”  
                Courfeyrac’s teeth tugged at his bottom lip and he lowered himself steadily to rest on the daybed beside Marius, looking down upon him with a profound tenderness in his eyes. Neither said anything for a moment before he asked gently, “Were you well this morning?”

He recalled waking Marius up that day, having needed to be up first himself so that he could complete some errands early in the morning. He’d pushed open the door to his friend’s bedroom upon returning and let all of the morning sunlight flood inside, its soft rays catching in the groggily opened eyes of the bedroom’s sole occupant. “Good morning, Monsieur Casanova de Seingalt!” Courfeyrac had teased, stepping more fully inside with a smile. Marius had issued a quiet, soft sigh, shielding his eyes from the light before rolling onto his side – this had, in turn, prompted a gleeful Courfeyrac to bound over and leap atop the duvet beside his friend, stretching out and lying on his side, and facing Marius with his head propped upon his elbow. At that, Marius had returned to lying on his back, turning his eyes to Courfeyrac in more alert inquiry: “What?” he had asked with wide eyes, upon noticing his friend gazing at him so intently. “What is the matter? Did I forget that it is your birthday? Your birthday is not for another seven weeks, Courfeyrac, I’m certain, so in that case what is it?”  
                But Courfeyrac had merely shook his head, a faraway smile on his lips, and sat upright, swinging his legs back over the side of the bed and touching his feet upon the wooden boards. “Nothing,” he had said brightly, though – with his back turned to his roommate – the corner of his lip had twitched.

Hours later, as he once again sat regarding Marius, that same faraway smile crept onto his expression while he waited for a response.  
                “No…” Marius said, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.” He paused, in deep reflection, before some clarity appeared to cross his features: “No, I know – it was while I was out,” he nodded, “at the Luxembourg, I think... —What?” Once more, his expression was searching: at his mention of the gardens which he frequented nearly each day, if manageable, looking out for the ringlet-haired, coquettish angel he had first glimpsed some months earlier, his roommate’s posture had appeared to stiffen. “What is the matter?” he repeated.  
                Silently, Courfeyrac traced his fingertips across Marius’ forehead again, feeling the softness of the curls resting there. Drawing back his hand, he moved his eyes away and shook his head, pressing his lips into a muted smile.  
                “Nothing,” he said airily.  
                He cleared his throat and stood up, moving back to the fireside while proclaiming, “Now, let us see if that bread is still warmed!”  
                And he thought of the cherry-topped bun lying on the table out in the entry parlour, and of the glitter which had entered Marius’ eyes as he had made mention of the Luxembourg; and Courfeyrac decided to leave it a surprise for another day.


End file.
